Star Wars: Written in the Stars
by CapnHannahSolo
Summary: After the destruction of the first Death Star, Princess Leia awakes from a recurring nightmare about a boy she doesn't know. With the nightmare's realism and intensity, she struggles to believe that it is only a dream. Chances are slim that a particular scoundrel she recently met can help her understand, but little does she know that he actually holds the answers she's looking for.


It came with no warning – just like it always did, and with the accompanying, uncomfortable sensation of feeling like she had to hold her breath as it happened, although not knowing why or even if it was necessary. The rushing sound grew louder in her ears, and she knew it would become nearly deafening before it would finally stop altogether, but once it did, the relief would be temporary as she knew that what she was about to witness next was a reoccurring nightmare unlike any other.

The last thing Princess Leia Organa had been conscious of was falling asleep in her small but comfortable bed in the Rebel base on Yavin VI that had, in recent days, been mercifully delivered from the shadow the Death Star. Initially, she had thought even with the Death Star having been annihilated by some unlikely heroes, causing a horrific setback in resources for the Empire, that some kind of raid was taking place and the entire base was in turmoil until she felt the awful sensation of paralysis, heard the wind rushing in her ears, and then the feeling of forcibly being pushed through something intangible.

 _Oh no . . . please . . . not again._

Feeling in her body came back so surreptitiously that she hardly knew that she was standing upright, and her hands were at her face until nearly the full sensation of her body was restored. She brought them down, recognizing the scintillating black sand dunes stretching out before her. She hoped against the odds that this vision would be different, but upon hearing the screams and smell of smoke in the distance, she knew it would play out just as it always did. She tried to convince herself that she could always stay where she was and choose to ignore the event until it played to its entirety and she'd find herself back in her bed again, however, she knew she had to participate to the end because that was where she was needed.

Princess Leia raced up the side of the large dune ahead of her, and upon reaching the peak, a small valley extended below, revealing the diminutive caravan with some transports flipped on their side, others burning, and bodies littered about. The screaming had stopped, but what replaced it was worse: laughter – maniacal, high-pitched laughter. Leia ran down the slope, uselessly hoping that this time she would be allowed to do more.

She came upon the remains of the caravan, taking care not to look directly at the bodies, but running through the wreckage, knowing the path to take. _Please let me do something this time!_ Up ahead, Leia saw the young woman who looked even younger than herself, running toward her, wearing what appeared to be little more than glorified scraps of mismatched clothing, clutching a child as equally terrified as she was. Just as Leia thought her prayer might be answered this time, she collided with that damned invisible wall that never failed to greet her. The princess began screaming, calling out to the woman, trying to warn her of the danger even before it materialized. But like always, it was no use, as the woman could neither see nor hear her. The laughter became more distinct and hideous as it multiplied from several voices, echoing off the walls of the dunes, each one more deranged than the last. They came from behind the burning transports, leisurely walking, some of them with missing limbs replaced by crude droid parts. Some were nearly human but some were a blend of something difficult to tell. They didn't seem concerned about hurrying in the slightest to catch up to the woman, whose quickly slowing pace had become staggered and began to sway awkwardly from gross fatigue.

Leia heard one of the bandits call out to his cronies, "Hey! Watch this!" She called out to the woman one last feeble time to duck, move, or _anything_ , but just as always, her own voice echoed back on her, never even being heard as a whisper on the wind. A multi-pointed projectile erupted through the frightened woman's throat, spurting blood from the newly opened wound, causing a sickly squelching, choking sound as she must've attempted to cry out in pain with what was to be her last breath. She fell to her knees, then face forward into the sand. Leia fell with her onto her own knees, unaware of her tears for the woman, desperately wishing she could break free from the invisible barricade that kept her from interfering.

One of the bandits mocked the choking death gasp of the dead woman, and the others laughed again as one of them began to make his way over to the body.

"That was a great shot, Skreex," came one of the bandits from the group that stayed behind.

"Thank you, thank you," returned who must've been Skreex as he curtseyed clumsily. "My next show will be at 7 and at 9, so bring the kids." The others laughed again and then began to disperse in different directions.

Leia felt she was going to be sick regardless of the familiar sight.

Skreex kept coming closer, looking to reclaim his projectile and sloppily taking a swig from a dirty bottle of what looked like violet swill. He was looking all around the sands, regarding the body as nothing more than part of the scenery, but wasn't finding it. Leia could see the child hiding underneath the pitiable corpse, attempting to bury himself deeper so as not to be found. But Skreex would be undeterred from finding the projectile. He came close to the body, and grabbed the female's garment to move her to the side, but as he did so, the little boy lunged at the low-life's human leg and bit down on the flesh as hard as he could. Skreex howled and hit the boy across the head with the same weapon that had shot the woman. The boy went sprawling onto the sand, dazed from the blow. An inhuman metal claw grabbed the little boy by his scrappy shirt and brought him up to Skreex's scarred face. "You little –" but the last word was censored by the sound of Skreex's punch landing on the boy's face, knocking him back into the black sand, unconscious. The bandit pulled a knife from his belt, and was just about to rejoin the boy with his dead guardian, when one of his cronies suddenly grabbed his hand, wrestling the knife down.

Princess Leia heard the other say, "Skreex! Wait! Wait! The Erderli Slavers were looking for boys this season! They'll pay a fortune for him!" but she didn't watch the scene as her gaze was fixed on the figure of the little, scruffy-looking boy, dressed in rags, a dirty face, and hair caked with blood from his murdered protector, lying helpless in the black sand, now at the mercy of these thieves and soon to be slavers with no one left in the galaxy who would care about his well-being. The princess didn't know how many times she had seen this vision, but the familiarity never stopped the tears from falling.

The rushing in her ears returned again, but she knew that she was not going home just yet. A few truncated scenes played before her now, melting, shifting, and drifting from one to the other of the bandits putting the boy's body in a sack, tying it to the back of one of their swoops, the gang of thieves leaving the site, traveling over the dunes, eventually coming to the coast and a very large dilapidated transport. From a distance, Leia saw the transaction take place, the head slaver looking the still senseless boy over, haggling over a price before eventually taking him.

The next scene was brutal, and Leia often tried to turn away from it, but something wouldn't let her; something wanted her to see it. There was darkness all around with little to indicate the location except for the whirring and whooshing of machinery. The boy was placed on what looked like a conveyor belt that delivered him to disembodied mechanical hands with a skeletal structure that worked quickly and efficiently. They tore the boy's shirt from him, picked him up, and removed the bits of the clothing before placing him face down onto a nearby metal table. More skeletal, mechanical hands came down from the darkness and held him fast by his small limbs. One droid hand grotesquely pulled the boy's left arm taut, disregarding the possible fragility of a still-developing bone structure. Another hand flicked its own index and thumb digits repeatedly until a spark and an electric current was produced from the index finger, which was placed onto the soft flesh of the boy's shoulder, searing and scratching out a ragged brand of symbols that only meant something to this particular slaving guild.

The pain from the branding brought the new young slave to his senses, and he began screaming in protest with tears of rage pouring down his little face. Although small, he fought in futility with everything his little frame had with hands and feet clawing uselessly at the metal surface beneath him. More cold, cruel metallic hands came down, pinning him still, pressing his face into the table, muffling his anguished screams, preventing the smallest movement from him to keep the branding from being interrupted or coming out flawed. It took minutes that tormented for an eternity.

Suddenly, it was done. With lightening efficiency, child-sized shackles were placed on the boy's hands and feet as a fully built droid came and picked the boy up from the metal slab. This droid was meant solely for utility, having virtually no face, and only treads for mobility, showing obvious signs of being wholly indifferent to the little human that hung limp in its one arm from complete psychological and physical exhaustion. It came down a dank corridor of what must have been a holding area, flanked by cells closed off with metal shutters, holding other occupants, human and non-human alike, that were clambering to get loose out of desperation. The droid turned into an open cell, and unceremoniously dumped the little boy on the dirty metal floor. It turned and left, closing the shutter behind it.

Leia waited.

The boy didn't move for a few long seconds. He pulled himself into a fetal position. She watched as the small body began shaking from cold and trauma. Finally, all invisible restraints were lifted from the princess as this was the moment that made it imperative to her to make the choice to see the vision through to the end. Although entirely invisible to the boy, Leia came close to lie down beside him and wrap her arms around him, gently resting her cheek on his. Trying to do all that she felt she could to soothe him, she began to hum an old Alderaan lullaby that she remembered from her childhood. The boy slowly stopped shaking, and Leia somehow knew that even in her incorporeal form, she was comforting him, bringing him back from the brink of darkness in spite of all the horror he had been made to experience. She had saved him.

Knowing this, Leia would vow again and again, every time she was made to see this vision, that she would always choose to engage it, if not for anything else, than to rescue this boy from psychological destruction.

Then, the rushing sound returned, and Leia knew that her time was up. Regardless of the dark and terrifying surroundings, she pleaded into the universe to not take her yet, to give her several more minutes. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving this child in an adult's hell of cruel apathy and cold loneliness to return to her soft, warm bed. _Please, let me stay with him . . . just a little while longer . . . please. . . ._

Princess Leia opened her eyes into the darkness of her quarters in the Rebel base on the Yavin moon with the warmth from the boy's small body still clinging to hers. Tears fell from her eyes one last time. She took a deep breath to calm herself before rolling onto her back and slowly sitting up.

Being a princess, and used to Alderaan finery, she had never thought of her compact quarters in the Rebel base as plush before. She had never complained about their starkness, knowing that a small Rebellion could not afford accommodations befitting her title, and never thinking that they should try, but after where she'd been, everything around her now seemed so decadent. She sat in her bed, drained from her strange journey, but mentally wired from it as well. She knew that sleep was going to be impossible for a while as the images and sensations from the vision needed to cool and fade from her immediate memory. She needed a distraction of some kind, something to help their sting ebb a little faster. Leia decided that she needed to leave her quarters, at least for a few minutes, as if escaping her bed was leaving the scene of a horrible tragedy.

The vision once again had left her so emotionally unhinged and heavy in thought, that she hadn't even considered redressing herself from her simple nightclothes of loose drawstring pants and a tank top, or of pulling a robe around her bare shoulders prior to leaving the officers' quarters of the base. Although not in the most modest attire for Alderaan royalty, it would hardly matter as the princess was well aware of where the guards were stationed at this time of night and where any activity would be occurring, and these areas were easy to avoid. Feeling the need for fresh air for clearer contemplation, Leia knew exactly where she was headed: a lookout platform towards the back of the base that was hardly used during the day and never used at night, and she could get there without running into a soul. It was the perfect spot to meditate on the strange questions of the universe, especially ones regarding horribly life-like visions full of physical sensation and whether they had meaning or if they were simply nightmares.

But something deep within convinced her that this was no dream. As to what it was, she couldn't know. She couldn't even remember exactly when they had started, but knew that it had been occurring for a few years now. In the beginning, this vision had been so infrequent, that she'd had enough time to convince herself that it was simply a nightmare, but as time went on with the vision never changing, it became impossible to hold onto that belief. Over a year ago, she had tried to do a bit of research into the phenomenon, but the closest she had found to anything was an article in the Alderaan information database about two female Jedis who had such a strong abilities in the Force that they could bi-locate in an incorporeal form and affect people and events in other locations to a limited extent. This information, while feeling very much like what Leia was experiencing, had disheartened her, for after all, she was no Jedi and certainly didn't have the Force. In fact, she had intended to speak to General Kenobi about it when given the chance – to ask if such a thing as a person being sensitive to the Force without actually having it was possible, but a very strange fate had befallen the knight in question that was difficult to reconcile in her very logical and analytical mind.

But that very question of being Force-sensitive leading to having some kind of ability in the Force brought up worse questions. If she had somehow mysteriously acquired the ability only known to have been performed by these two female Jedis, then who, where, and when was the little boy she saw? Was it past, present, or future that this vision took place? Seeing as that the vision never changed, over time Leia had begun to seriously believe that she was seeing the past, which may also have made sense as to why she was only able to affect anything until the very end of it while not be able to change the actual events. Either way, she worried about the boy. If only she could have a vision or some sign to reveal that he was all right, at least, but then, what was the point of having this vision of his past repeatedly if he didn't need her in the present? It was now clear to her that all this speculation on the phenomenon would never reveal any answers as it was certainly too mysterious to figure out on her own. But even though she had resigned herself to stop thinking about it, its clarity and her compassion for the solitary and abused little boy wouldn't allow her mind or her heart to let the matter go completely.

Leia climbed the steps to the top of the lookout balcony with a mind and heart so burdened with mysteries that once she reached the semi-circular, open-air deck, she found herself half-collapsing onto the retaining wall of the metal parapet with a deep sigh. For the moment, with her face buried in her arms, she was unable to take in the sight of the numerous stars above in a blanket of black sky, nor the temples of Yavin IV poking their broad minarets through the sea of leaves down below, nor even that of a familiar smuggler, casually lounging on the ledge of the same retaining wall a few meters from her side.

"It's past your bedtime, Your Highness."

Naturally, his unexpected deep tones that hinted at a Corellian drawl startled her, yet she recognized the voice immediately. Leia quickly recollected herself, and hoped in the dim light that he hadn't seen her initial reaction. Han Solo had a way of unnerving her and seemed to enjoy it.

"I could make the same remark." Her cool delivery suggested otherwise, but the princess was suddenly very aware of her immodest dress that certainly could invoke reactions from the conceited outlaw that were not inspired by respect, and what made the situation worse, was that he had given up his relaxed perch on the parapet and was making his way to her with that characteristic swagger she could now identify from meters away. She tried to indifferently cross her arms over her chest to intimate the false idea that she was cold in the midst of this tropical Yavin climate.

Han scoffed at her return. "Pirates don't need much sleep, Princess."

"I suppose not," she said, looking him over and noticing that he was still dressed in his customary attire, suggesting that he had not gone to bed yet even at this very late hour. She turned back to look out over the railing to the vast greenery beyond, hoping that if she switched her attention from between the two of them that he would do the same, and not notice that _her_ attire was not so customary.

Quite suddenly, Leia felt the weight of heavy fabric come down around her shoulders, and soon realized that she was wearing Solo's vest. She quickly looked up at him, but he had already turned outward to face the jungle below, leaning onto the retaining wall, easing himself onto his folded forearms. Leia wished to thank him, but since he was practically acting as if he didn't do it, the gratitude seemed unexpected or needed. She supposed acts of chivalry like that were generally not in Solo's repertoire, which was why he seemed to be distancing himself from the action, but then, she wondered, what made him feel that he needed to do it?

Before she could reflect on it much more, he cut the silence. "So what brings you up here at this time of night?"

". . . I had a nightmare," she replied heavily. "I just needed to clear my head."

"A nightmare, huh?" he drawled toward the dark wilderness. "I wonder what royalty dreams about."

Leia felt the attempt to seriously discuss what she had been experiencing to Solo a fool's errand, but the thought of turning this intercourse into a debate about class struggles, which she felt he was baiting her into, grated her even more. "It . . . wasn't just any nightmare. It was very real and upsetting."

"What do you mean by 'real'?"

"It just feels real - like I'm really there. Full of . . . physical sensation, and . . . clear. It's not like any other dream. And I see things in it that are disturbing." She pulled Solo's vest tighter about her shoulders for the unconscious desire of keeping a sense of security as images from the vision began to replay themselves again in her mind's eye. "And I don't want to talk about it."

Han looked over at her, hearing the distress in her voice. He turned back and gave the jungle his patented lopsided smile. "It's just a dream, Your Worship."

"It's not," she asserted, shaking her head. She knew she shouldn't continue talking about it to him of all people, but found, for some unseen reason, she couldn't stop. "I wanted to speak to General Kenobi about it but . . . ." Obviously, she couldn't finish that sentence since the old knight's literal disappearance in front of her defied explanation.

"Are Jedis supposed to be good at dream interpretation?"

"I don't know," she returned wearily, and then thought to challenge him since he seemed to be challenging her. "Are _you_ any good at it?"

"I can't see things with my eyes closed, or know when to fire a missile into an exhaust port without a targeting computer, or anything - but I'll do my best."

". . . Maybe Luke would know."

Han's demeanor changed. "I wouldn't bother the kid too much."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been through a lot in a short time. He's trying to keep busy, but you can only do that for so long."

"What happened? I don't . . . ." she trailed off, wondering if all the pressure and fame from the Death Star's destruction had gotten to the Rebellion's new hero. She'd seen older men crack under less. But Han's answer was worse than that.

"His aunt and uncle were murdered by the Empire before he joined up with that old man. They were the only family he had. I guess that Ben guy was going to train him or something, and now he's gone."

". . . I didn't know. Did _he_ tell you this?"

"Some of it. I didn't know about his aunt and uncle until he said something. Makes me glad I had asked him to join up with Chewie and me. This is too big a galaxy to be caught up alone in, and he's still pretty wet behind the ears."

Leia found her worry for Skywalker somewhat alleviated and at once replaced by adoration for Solo. "You asked Luke to join your crew? When was this?"

Her smile that was seeping into her tone had not yet caught Han's attention. "Right before we destroyed that space station." His reply came without thought, but then he suddenly caught her coquettish note. He looked over at her to find her coy smile confirming what he thought he'd heard, which also enboldened him. He stood from his recline over the parapet to fully engage her and match her flirtatious mien. "Why? What's so funny?"

"Nothing." She shrugged with a dalliant air that piqued Solo's interest even more. "It's just that I knew I was right about you."

"What? How you knew there was more to me than money?"

She nodded as her smile could no longer stay subtle.

"You still got _that_ wrong, sweetheart," he continued with his gray eyes catching a rogue gleam of moonlight. "It's very simple; more crew members means we can handle more cargo, and more cargo means more credits."

"Oh, I see. So the fact that Luke would have had a bed to sleep in, a means to earn money and gain life experience, and have the benefit of one very protective Wookiee and the mentorship of a very capable captain looking out for him were things that never crossed your mind."

"Well, I . . . never said the job didn't come with perks."

"Of course. And I suppose there's some desirable reason for you to be sticking around here days after you've received two rewards for rescuing me and helping to destroy the Death Star even though you said you had pressing debts to pay off . . . ?"

". . . Sure."

But his lack of a witty retort to prove his case, which was quite a rare occurrence for Han Solo, substantiated Leia's suspicions. "Which is?"

He studied her steadily for several moments. Her words were simply asking him to defend his reputation as a scoundrel, and yet there was an insinuation, languidly strolling about them that was consorting with a tender whisper that seduced with star light in her own eyes and beckoned from the shine on her soft lips. Oh yes, with those lovely attributes of the princess stealing his words, Captain Solo could definitely defend that reputation as a scoundrel, but the action that they were inspiring from him that would make his case perfectly clear was sure to earn him a slap across the face. For a split second, he acknowledged to himself that a slap would be worth it, but it would be followed by consequences that wouldn't be. He quickly turned away from her and back toward the jungle to lean on the retaining wall again. "So tell me about that dream."

Leia sighed. She had actually forgotten about it for the past few minutes, but the mention of it renewed some of its trauma. "I'd rather not."

"That bad, eh?"

"Like I said, it feels too real when its happening, and I can't shake the feeling that it has significance."

"And you think that old man could've told you what that was."

"Possibly," she sighed. ". . . At least he would make the most sense."

"Why him?"

"Because of the Force, I guess."

Han shifted his leaning stance. "You should forget about the Force and the dream, Princess."

". . . Why?" She believed his words to be too dramatic. And how could he say such a thing when she had been expressing to him from the beginning of this conversation how intense the dream was?

"I just don't like it."

"What do you mean?"

"This Force thing - I don't like it."

"I'm sure the Force isn't exactly in love with you either."

Han shot her a wry smile, which she was already returning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually enjoy giving me a hard time."

She heard the invitation in his voice to return the flirtation and knew that dygnifying his statement with an answer could be dangerous so she began adjusting his vest about her shoulders again to diffuse any suggestive tension. "I guess that means you don't believe in the Force, then."

It was easier to let Luke Skywalker and Ben Kenobi think that he didn't believe, but there was more to it than that. It would've made no difference voicing his objections to the existence of the Force to avid disciples who perpetually had some kind of convenient retort leaning on a mystery of faith rather than a tangible explanation. From his experience, those types always seemed to adopt an expression of mystical superiority, coloring their non-explanation with the note of "if you still don't understand, then you're too stupid to understand, and therefore, unworthy of understanding." If that was the case, then Han Solo didn't have a problem with being "unworthy of understanding". Leia, however, was not a disciple.

"I don't like how it operates," he began. "I've heard that at one time there were bad knights and good knights, but the Force obeyed all of them the same. It didn't care if you were a bad guy or a good guy, and if that's the case, then all it comes down to is power. If it doesn't punish anyone for being bad then where's the cosmic justice in that?"

His answer astounded her as she never would have guessed that he'd have put any kind of serious thought into the nature of the Force. She tried her best to answer his question. "I guess the good Jedis stop the bad ones. The closer you are to the Light Side, the more . . . good you become." Her explanation sounded frail even to herself.

"What if there are no good Jedis to stop the bad ones? And who decides what good actually is if the Force doesn't care what side you're on? If it just obeys, then anyone who has it can decide whatever _they_ want to be good."

"But it doesn't just obey," she interjected. "It also guides."

"And it guides the bad guys like it guides the good guys?" he asked, pointedly. "If it cared about an ultimate good, or universal peace, or whatever, then there would be repercussions for the bad guys, and there aren't. It all comes down to who is more powerful - who uses the Force _better_ , and not about who is more righteous on objective terms."

The princess took a deep breath before replying to help release some of the weight of his logic. "You bring up some good points. I suppose that there _are_ repercussions for anyone on the Dark Side, but they're more . . . spiritual . . . ?"

"If the Force obeys anybody who can wield it, giving power to whoever listens to it better or _however the hell that works_ , then there are no consequences for being evil - spiritual or anything."

Although she was still impressed with Solo's valid criticisms of the Force, the lack of necessary sleep was catching up with her. Leia put her hands to her face and lightly moaned. "I'm . . . I'm way too tired for a theological debate with you right now."

Han could hear the exhaustion in her voice. He pushed himself from the parapet and moved closer. "You should go to bed then."

"Yes," she affirmed, rubbing her eyes.

He pretended to remove a piece of fuzz from her hair that wasn't actually there. "Would you like some company to keep the nightmares away?"

She abruptly stopped rubbing her eyes to glare up at the brash Corellian. She made sure every word was articulated, "Not in a million years."

"All right," he intoned softly but in his usual cavalier spirit. "In a million and one years you'll know where to find me. But, you'd better get in soon; it's gonna rain any minute."

Leia looked into the night sky, but the stars were as clear and numerous as they had ever been. "How do you know?"

"I just do."

Before she could interrogate him on this newly discovered ability to confidently predict rain that appeared as inspired by the Force as anything from a man who didn't like believing in the Force, she remembered his vest. "Oh." She started to remove it, but he stopped her.

"Don't worry about it. Get it back to me later."

"Thank you." Leia turned and started back toward the stairwell, realizing that she was grateful to have the extra coverage just in case she ran into anyone on her trek back to her quarters, but his voice arrested her again.

"Just don't go through the pockets."

She turned to look at him and found that he was still looking at her, waiting for a confirmation of his request. Leia paused, wondered about it absently, but then found that it really didn't matter, although she still wondered. "All right."

Han gave a slight nod. "Good night, Princess."

"Good night," she stated with almost royal finality, but couldn't take it too seriously for she was still preoccupied in thinking about the contents of Solo's vest pockets.

She turned and started down the stairwell but felt compelled for unknown reasons to take one more look over her shoulder at the enigmatic scoundrel. His back was toward to her now, and she silently watched him for a few moments more, silhouetted against a sky full of stars: a wayward rogue for hire by the galaxy's most notorious criminals and low-lifes, who insisted that he was only motivated by money, yet returned to help save thousands of rebel lives when they needed him most, offered refuge to an orphaned farmboy, protected a princess' modesty, and contemplated deeply into the spiritual workings of the universe in ways that revealed a secret craving for righteousness. The evidence kept mounting that underneath all that uncouth and cocky exterior, there was a virtuous man biding his time for the hour when he would be needed again. Leia couldn't help but smile before quite silently making her way down the stairs so as not to let Han know that she had lingered.

On her way through the still rebel base, Leia pulled Han Solo's vest closer around herself while her thoughts briefly returned to the little boy in her vision. She didn't know how, nor could even attempt to guess why, but a feeling of calm laced with mere quivers of elation came over her.

Alone now on the lookout deck, Solo tried to meditate on his next move knowing how quickly Jabba the Hutt's patience waned when he was owed money and how much less mercy he showed to those to were late in paying. He had what he needed to pay his employer back, and by all sanity, he knew he should return to Tatooine now that he had the money, but there were new concerns entangling him currently. And as he was trying to figure out how these new developments may turn out, he found that his thoughts kept being interrupted by the memory of the princess' teasing smile that graced his presence multiple times tonight, or the blithe comments she made that tore him down in words but built him back up in their inviting delivery. He couldn't know exactly how effective he was in unnerving the seemingly ever-aloof princess, but he was definitely aware of how her ability to see right through his mercenary facade unnerved him, and yet, while it was unsettling, it was equally soothing in an equally perplexing way. But what was more unnerving in the midst of these burgeoning and undulating emotions was that now that Leia was gone, he found that he was lonely for her.

Han looked back at the stairwell, not sure of what he expected to see, but of course, she wasn't there. He turned back toward the stars, but only for a second as the sharp stabbing pain shot through his left shoulder again, reminding him of the oncoming rain. No sooner had it made its statement known, than he noticed the accumulation of small dark clouds up above and heard a few scattered raindrops pelt the deck. The sharp pain jabbed him a third time, angrily enough to cause him to flinch, chastising him for not obeying it the first time, but Solo wouldn't have wanted the princess to notice it. Since there was no weather in space, and Tatooine rarely had any rain, it was a malady that was easily forgotten about, and one that he especially wouldn't have wanted her to question the origin of its presence. It was already throbbing now, but before it could assault him with its stabbing persistence and bring him back to those grim memories, he quickly left the lookout deck and headed down the stairwell.

On his sojourn back to the hangar currently housing the _Millennium Falcon_ , Han tried to think of nothing, but Leia Organa kept invading his mind. He told himself there was no point to it, but it didn't matter for never in human history did a man need a point to meditate on a beautiful woman, but what made her so hard to push aside were her somewhat intangible traits that spoke to something deep inside of him. She was strong and sublime and invoked a nostalgic sense of justice within the smuggler that he hoped he had forgotten about. Yet it wasn't only those qualities but indefinitely a mixture of others, most of them awakening a desire within him to pull off the mercenary mask that she could already see through and reveal to her parts of himself that would be character suicide to show to anyone else. He tried to tell himself that maybe it was only the nighttime as it was known to do strange things to people, or maybe it was only her passionate spirit that was fascinating him about her, but whatever it was, he needed it to stop for a princess and a guy like him could never be.

Solo walked up the ramp way to the _Falcon_ , completely resolute now that he and Chewbacca needed to leave the Rebellion behind them as fast as possible before any more funny ideas tried to waylay him, but the moment he entered the corridor just outside the crew quarters, he was reminded of one of the immediate entanglements that was already keeping him here.

At first he thought to tread lightly so as not to awaken his sleeping companions, but it was evident that the Wookiee's snoring was sure to drown out the sound of his footsteps. Han paused momentarily to lean in the doorway, making sure everything was copacetic. He found it amazing how Luke Skywalker seemed to be able to tolerate Chewbacca's snoring better than Solo could as the younger man was sleeping peacefully in the bunk that was positioned in the wall perpendicular to the cacophonous, furry hulk. Miraculously oblivious of all the din, Skywalker slept in a position not all that unfamiliar to a dead gholafish, half on his stomach, half on his side with his mouth gaping and his head pushed back as it and his pillow fought for space, and his face was losing. His right foot had plenty of room, however, as it had escaped from the blankets and was hanging in the open air over the edge of the bunk. With the discordant soundtrack of Wookiee snores playing in the background, it was an image that inspired more insanity than it did serenity, but since the bunk was actually spacious enough to offer Luke all the necessary comfort without necessary contortion, Han figured it must have been good enough.

It was certainly better than the utility closet that the Rebellion had tried to give Skywalker as his quarters at any rate. Although Luke had been amenable to accepting the compartment, upon seeing it, Han had ordered the callow farmboy to pack up what little belongings he had purchased for himself at the commissary and make himself at home in the _Falcon._ Skywalker was to live here until those in charge of housing could get their thumbs out of their asses long enough to offer him something more deserving of the guy who had saved them from certain destruction.

Leia's teasing entered his thoughts again, and he was glad that she didn't know about Luke's current living arrangements, although she was sure to eventually find out. Hopefully that would come at a time after Han had been able to re-establish his reputation as a jaded star jockey. For the time being at least, the kid wouldn't be orphaned again amidst the throng of a military complex - perhaps a hero, but otherwise unknown and alone.

Han Solo remembered the ache of loneliness; he had once known it in spades.

He entered the dark quarters and made his way to the third bunk that was across from Chewbacca's that mostly served their emergency medical needs. He sat down and then reached for the drawers underneath to retrieve a med-patch to deaden the pain in his shoulder. He kicked off his boots and pulled off his shirt. After removing the patch from its backing, Solo placed it over an old wound, scarred over now from the decades passed since it was carved into his flesh and burned into the bone from a pair of cold, skeletal droid hands.

He settled into the bunk and breathed deeply, letting the twilight of unconsciousness blanket over him. As Han Solo felt sleep's tender arms envelop him in a compassionate embrace, nestling its warm cheek against his, he was only vaguely aware of how much it mystifyingly felt like Princess Leia.


End file.
